Sublime

In eleven long years John Bergson had made but little impression upon the wild land he had come to tame.

They were beckoning mountains with a brown grass love.

although the men I have known have had many virtues and have taken me to live in many places I have come to love, they have never been John Wayne, and they have never taken me to that bend in the river where the cottonwoods grow. Deep in that part of my heart where the artificial rain forever falls, that is still the line I wait to hear.